


Downfall

by aqueentorattlestars



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Confrontation, Gen, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 13:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13435479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aqueentorattlestars/pseuds/aqueentorattlestars
Summary: Cassian takes Mor home after a night at Rita’s. They finally begin to talk about the treatment of Nesta. It’s a difficult conversation that leaves both parties hurting.





	Downfall

**Author's Note:**

> This request has been sitting in my inbox for a couple of weeks now... And I’ve been trying to deal with how I would handle this. I know this is a sensitive area with the fandom... I tried to write true to the characters and to the feelings they might have about the situation.  
> I love both of these characters. So... You can imagine how hard it was to write this confrontation.

She could still hear the drums—could hear the rhythm they banged out, a siren’s song for all that had been at Rita’s. _Dance_ it had crooned to Morrigan, _Dance the night away._

So she had.  
Underneath the guard of her Illyrian friends, the fae had spent the eve celebrating the richness of the music.  
  
And she had continued to dance even when Cassian had returned her to the luxury that was her apartment.   
  
“Dance Cas,” Mor laughed, red-wine lips pulling back in a beautiful smile. Drunk on song, she had tugged at the commander’s hand—encouraging him to give in to the beat of  the song they had left behind.   
  
“There’s no music,” he had replied, for once sober after a night spent out on the town.  
  
Her pout was devastating—a mastered look that, not that long ago, would have had Cassian crawling on his knees to give her the world, “Awww, what’s wrong? Can you not hear it? I can. And it’s telling me to _dance.”  
_  
Still, he did not oblige. Instead, he sauntered towards the table where a pitcher of water and a crystal glass had been left by one of the more thoughtful attendants. A glass was poured for the female who, when he had turned around, had started to dance on her own accord. To whatever bloody song she swore she heard.  
  
_‘Females,’_ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth at seeing Mor’s delight, ‘ _Of all the ridiculous things. Dancing without music.’_ At least she appeared to be happy.   
  
Leaning against the table, Cas was content to remain silent and watch Mor revel in her heart’s song.

As the flame that warmed the hearths, the female moved. Her movements were rapid and ever changing, wild and alluring as the fire that never ceases. Golden locks spun about slender shoulders, the waves as free as the sea. Entangling like luscious ropes about the trim waist, and cascading like spilled ink.  
_  
_ Arms were raised out in front of her as the silent song was finished; this position was held for a brief moment until she brought herself back into reality. The applause of her audience filling her ears.  
  
Full lips were brought into an unashamed smile as eyes as lovely and rich as melted chocolate slipped to Cassian, her heart warmed by his clapping.   
  
“Thank you, thank you,” she preened, curtsying beneath his praise. It did not take long for Mor to kick out of her shoes, leaving the heels in the middle of the floor before eyeing her favorite spot to lounge in. Stalking towards the furniture, Mor flung herself atop it. Mirthful giggles continued to spill from her lips as she addressed Cassian, “It would have been better if you had danced _with_ me.”

Cassian crossed the room in balanced strides, bringing the glass of water to the joyous beauty. After making sure she drank some of the water, he finally bothered to respond, “I danced with you all night at Rita’s—excuse me for not having the stamina to dance all night long with you.”  
  
A smirk curled onto painted lips while Mor sipped from her glass, “It would be a shame if the females of Velaris discovered that the Commander couldn’t handle a night of dancing—that doesn’t bode well for the bedroom.” Thoroughly amused by her own teasing, the blonde had reduced down into another spell of laughter.   
  
When Cassian only bothered with a snort in return… It sent her into another fit of laughter.   
  
The Illyrian only rolled his eyes once more, bringing the pitcher towards her to refill the glass again, “And with that, I’ll be leaving—" He sat the pitcher on the side-table, looking at his companion, “—Make sure you drink some more water, yeah?”

A cat outstretched on the chaise, Morrigan turned to eye him, “You’re leaving already? But the night is early. We used to stay until the break of dawn talking.” The slit of the red gown she wore running high—a gloriously tanned leg was kissed beneath the moonlight of the window, “Stay a little longer? Something’s the matter. You hardly drank anything tonight—strange for you.”  
  
He considered for a moment, but his heart tugged elsewhere—up towards the House of Wind and to the library where he knew _she_ would be curled up with the latest novel that had caught her fancy.  “Not tonight, Mor,” Cassian answered, leaving off explanation for his denial.  
  
One had not been needed. She knew already where his mind lingered—where it had been lingering for months now.

“Explain it to me,” she purred, a manicured finger tracing the rim of her glass, “How the greatest Commander this court has ever seen… Falls prey to a snake?”

It took only a single question to stop Cassian in his tracks. His mighty wings flared and closed again—had he been a canine, his hackles would have been raised. Predatory, he turned, “Don’t call her that.”

“I only speak the truth,” she retorted. Ready for the duel, Mor sat up. Those long legs crossed, waiting for the anger that was building, “I’m trying to protect you, Cas. You’re too damned blind to see it for yourself.”  
  
Control. _Control_. He had to maintain control over his temper. Centuries of battle had been spent—and rarely did he allow himself to get goaded into things. But… This… This was different. This was coming from a friend. A female he had loved. A female that had used him before… A slight that had long been forgiven, but the scars of that wound still ached at times.  That control was slipping as Cassian gritted out, “I can handle myself. I don’t need your protection from Nesta.”  
  
Desperation edged at the corner of Mor’s thoughts—how could he not see how… How _wrong_ the eldest Archeron sister was. She was wrong for him; Nesta was a knife poised at his back, waiting to stab him when he was utterly lost to the spell she was weaving. Cassian needed to heed her help.

“Listen to me,” she commanded. The shadows of the room leaned into her presence—listening to the decree of the queen who had conquered her chains, “Listen well, my friend, for my power is truth. This _woman_ —” she refused to acknowledge Nesta as fae “—will be your downfall.”

“Then let her be!” Cassian roared, retaliating out of a love he still did not understand, “Let her be my downfall, Mor.” The male jabbed a thumb to his chest while words spewed out like lava, “Let her ruin me. Let her be my undoing. I want her to break every damn part of me!  
  
“I _welcome_ her in. Mother’s Tits, I want her to ruin everything I am,” he had begun to pace, hazel eyes the embodiment of a living flame while the bastard warrior unearthed more, “It’s been _centuries_ since I’ve felt something like this for a female. Since _you_ , Mor.” Cassian clenched his fists while he stopped his pacing and turned to face her again, “And if Nesta is to be my downfall—then let me crash and burn. You know _nothing_ about her other than what you’ve been told. You’ve treated her like she’s _beneath_ you. And fuck it—hate her for all you want, I don’t care. You’ve a right to your own feelings; but don’t you _dare_ try to turn me on her—”   
  
“I’m not—” she tried to interject, but was cut off by the fury of a male haunted by ghosts of the past.  
  
“—No, let me finish. You don’t know her, Mor. You only see what you want to see; but you weren’t there to watch, weren’t there to see her throw herself over me. She could have left me to die; but she chose to stay. She chose to die with me. So no, you don’t get to sit here in front of me and tell me how awful she is. I make that choice for myself. And I choose to love her with every damned part of my soul.”

She sat there, silent—mouth agape and grasping for words. Tears lined her eyes as she saw the truth; saw the raw emotion that churned within Cassian for the frigid Nesta.   
  
Had she been wrong?  
Had she been wrong to judge?

In one fluid movement, Mor stood from her chair. Cautiously, she closed the distance between them, reaching out to touch his arm.  
  
Only to be denied as Cassian stepped back. The air was electric with the anger that emanated from him. Anger and hurt that she would hold so much… resentment towards the one his heart longed for.  Cauldron, she needed to say something—but the words were not there.   
  
Cassian growled his frustration, raking his hand through his hair while he shook his head, “You don’t have to fucking like her. But you can stop treating her like she belongs to the Court of Nightmares. I would have thought that you, of all people, could have understood her—but I was wrong.” A deep frown darkened his handsome face, “Just treat her like a damned person. For my sake. I don’t think that’s too much to ask of you.”  
  
Turning, he stalked out the door with a gruff, “I’ll talk to you later.”  
  
Mor stood alone in the middle of her apartment; her heart aching for the friend she had wounded so.   
Truth might have been her power…   
But she had been slow to understand the truth of what was between Nesta and Cassian.  
  
Two words finally came to her lips.  
  
“I’m sorry…”  
  
An apology too late in the making—the Illyrian had left with more sorrow in his heart than had been there before.  



End file.
